Regency Reputation

Lord Westleigh pursed his lips. ‘Meant no harm.’

Rhys narrowed his eyes.

Westleigh glanced away. ‘My sons tell me this establishment is making money. Is that true?’

‘It is true.’ Rhys guessed the earl wanted his share. Not a damned chance until he met his part of the bargain.

‘But you have not paid my sons a farthing.’ Westleigh had the gall to look affronted.

Rhys levelled his gaze at the man. ‘It is you who have held up payment, sir. I await you.’

‘Yes. Well.’ Westleigh looked everywhere but at Rhys. ‘It is complicated.’

Rhys laughed dryly. ‘And distasteful to you, I might imagine.’ He shook his head. ‘Matters not to me whether you do this or not. This place is making me rich.’ He walked away.

Rhys had begged once from his father, but never again. Let his father beg from him this time.

As soon as she walked in the room, Celia’s gaze went directly to Rhysdale. He stood with an older man, a gentleman, to judge by the fit and fabric of his coat. This man had not visited the gaming house before, at least not when she’d been here, and she had not seen him at the few society functions she attended with Adele and Lady Gale.

Whoever this man was, Rhysdale did not seem pleased at his presence. That piqued her curiosity even more.

She detested herself for looking for Rhysdale as soon as she walked through the door, for wondering about who he was with and how he felt about it.

As the days had gone on, she’d come to enjoy his attentions.

It felt almost like having a friend.

She turned away and made her way through the room, returning greetings from players to whom she was now a familiar figure. She no longer needed Rhysdale to find her a game of whist; plenty of men and some ladies were glad to play.

She passed by Xavier Campion. That man’s eyes usually followed her, not with the interest of other gentlemen. She swore he watched her with suspicion. Tonight, however, Xavier watched Rhysdale and his brow was furrowed.

Who was that man?

Rhysdale turned away from the gentleman and walked away, his expression one of distaste and suppressed rage.

She lowered her gaze and set about finding a whist partner.

Not too long after, she was seated at a table and arranging a hand of cards into suits. Still, she was acutely aware of whenever Rhysdale passed near.

She no longer feared he was trying to catch her cheating. She liked his attention. It seemed as if the air crackled with energy when he was near, like it might before a summer storm. She liked him.

Even though he made his living from gambling.

To her distress, the cards did not favour her this night. Even when she had partnered with Xavier, she lost hand after hand. Counting in her head, she knew it was not a trifling amount. She kept playing, thinking the next hand would turn her luck around. When that did not happen, she counted on the hand after that.

As the night advanced, her pile of counters grew lower and lower. She’d lost over half the money she staked. Still, the urge was strong to keep playing, to bet more, to keep going so she could change it all back to the way it had been before.

But still she lost.

Celia stared at her counters and came to her senses. Stop! she told herself. Before you return home with nothing.

She stood up abruptly. ‘I am done.’

Before the others at her table could protest, she hurried away and made her way to the cashier. She wanted the counters changed back to coin so she would not be tempted to return to the games.

It was only two in the morning, too early to wait outside for her coachman. Instead, after cashing in her counters, she walked to the supper room, not hungry, but greatly desiring a glass of wine or two to quiet her nerves.

Several of the tables were occupied, but her gaze went instantly to the table where she’d sat before with Rhysdale.

He was there, staring into nothing, a glass in hand.

She approached him, needing at least the illusion of a friend. ‘Hello, Rhysdale.’

He glanced at her with a look of surprise that turned into a smile. ‘The lady with the mask.’ He stood and pulled out a chair. ‘Would you care to sit with me?’

She sat.

‘What is your pleasure?’ he asked. ‘Shall I fix a plate for you?’

‘Wine.’ She sighed. ‘Just wine.’

He signalled a servant to bring her wine.

Now that she’d so brazenly approached him, she did not know what to say.

‘How was your night?’ he asked finally.

‘Not good,’ she replied.

What more was there to say? Losing called into serious question her whole plan to finance Adele’s come-out with winnings. Worse than that, it showed how easily she could slip into a gambling fever where nothing mattered but trying to win back her money.

The wine arrived and she quickly downed half of it.

His brows rose. ‘Bring the bottle,’ he told the servant and turned back to her. ‘I take it you lost.’

Her fingers drummed the tabletop. ‘I did.’

He reached across the table and quieted her busy hand. ‘Do you need assistance? Are you in distress?’

She glanced into his eyes, which conveyed only concern and earnestness. His hand was warm against hers, even through the thin fabric of her glove.

She slipped her hand away, shaken at how comforting his touch felt and how much she needed comfort.

‘I’ll come to rights,’ she said, although her voice lacked any semblance of confidence.

‘I can lend you money,’ he went on.

She shook her head. ‘I know better than to borrow from moneylenders.’

His eyes flashed. ‘I am not a moneylender. I offer as a friend.’

She took in a breath. ‘But … you do not even know who I am.’

He traced the edge of her mask with a finger. ‘Tell me, then. Who are you?’

She sat very still at his gentle touch while her heart fluttered in her chest.

‘I am nobody,’ she said, speaking with a truth that had been proved over and over. She had not mattered enough for anyone to care what the impact of their actions would be to her.

She raised her eyes to his.

His promise seemed so genuine, as if he was a man she could believe. Would he truly lend her money if she needed it? And then what? Without gambling she could not repay him. What would she do then? Turn to moneylenders?

She shivered as the memory of her father returned. He had to sell her pony, he’d told her. He had to pay the moneylenders. Life after that had been filled with more times of want than times of plenty.

Until the day her mother told her news even more horrible than losing a pony. Her father was dead. He’d been accused of cheating at cards and a man—an earl—had shot him dead in a duel.

‘I do not need a loan,’ she said absently, still caught in the memory of her father’s senseless death.

At every society entertainment she feared she would encounter her father’s killer. What would she do then?

Rhys spoke. ‘But you need money.’

‘I’ll find another way.’ Although she knew there was no other way.

She, Adele and Lady Gale would have to find a set of rooms that Celia’s widow’s pension could afford. She’d have to let the servants go and Adele’s chances of making a good marriage would become extremely slim. At least Celia would not have to encounter the earl who killed her father.

She finished her glass of wine as the servant placed the bottle on the table. Rhysdale poured her another.

‘Thank you.’ She lifted the glass and decided to push the attention off herself. ‘What of you, Rhysdale? When I came in you looked as if you were the one who had lost money.’

A corner of his mouth rose. ‘The house never loses, you know. We are doing well.’

She smiled. ‘I am glad of it. You seem to have more players each time I’ve come.’

‘More women, as well.’ Again he touched her mask. ‘The Masquerade seems to be working.’

She put her fingers where his had touched. ‘It has worked for me.’

He sat back. ‘Until now.’

She shrugged. ‘I shall have to consider whether to come again and try to recoup.’

He leaned forwards again. ‘Do you mean to say you might not return?’

‘I might not.’ She paused. ‘I should not.’

‘Do not say so!’

Her heart started pounding faster again. She took another sip of wine. ‘Does one gambler matter so much?’

His gaze seemed to pierce into her. He did not answer right away. Finally he said, ‘I believe there are men who come merely in hopes of playing with you.’

She scoffed. ‘Surely you are not serious.’ She supposed the men who’d partnered with her and those who played against her recognised her skill. ‘In any event, I doubt any man will want to partner with me after my losing streak tonight.’

She’d not only lost her own money, but her partners’ money, as well.

‘You place so little value on yourself?’ He continued to pin her with his eyes.

No one else had valued her.

She glanced down. ‘Who wants to partner with someone who is losing?’

He drummed on the table like she had done earlier, while his steady gaze began to unnerve her.

‘I have a proposition,’ he said finally. ‘Come work for me.’

Rhys did not know why he had not thought of this before.

Hire her.

‘What do you mean, work for you?’ She looked shocked. ‘Doing what?’

‘Gambling,’ he rushed to assure her. ‘Nothing more.’ The idea grew in his head as he spoke. ‘I would pay you to gamble. And to encourage others to gamble, as well.’

Her eyes through her mask grew wary. ‘Am I to cheat?’

He waved a hand. ‘Never! It is not cheating to pay you to gamble. You will receive no advantage.’

She glanced away, as if deliberating.

It gave him time to think, as well. Would he compromise the gambling house by paying her to gamble? He only knew he wanted her to come back. He needed her to come back.

She turned back to him. ‘How much would you pay?’

He threw out the first number that occurred to him. ‘Two pounds a night?’

‘Two pounds?’ She looked astonished.

Was that not enough? He paid his man only fifty pounds a year. ‘That is more than generous, madam.’

She sat very still, but he fancied her mind was calculating.

Finally she spoke. ‘I need money, sir, but if my task is to gamble, then, as generous as two pounds a night might be, it does not allow me to play for bigger stakes. What is more, I still stand a chance that I will lose as I have lost tonight. That I cannot risk.’

She had a point. In gambling there was always the possibility of losing it all.

He wanted her to agree, though. He wanted to see her again. If he did not offer enough to entice her, she might never return.

He tapped on the table again. ‘Very well. I will stake you.’ He thought for a minute. ‘Say, for one hundred pounds. At the end of the night, you return my stake to me but keep your winnings. If you lose, you make an accounting to me of the loss.’ If she lost too often, he’d reassess this plan, but his gamble was that she would bring in more money than she would lose.

Her eyes showed interest. ‘Do I still receive the two pounds a night?’

He was not that big a fool. ‘One pound. Plus your winnings.’

She calculated again, her eyes on his. What did she look like under her mask? He imagined lifting it off her face, discovering the treasure underneath.

In the back of his mind he could hear Xavier’s voice, questioning his motives, accusing him of succumbing to the first pretty lightskirt who’d caught his eye in a long time.

She was not a lightskirt, but Rhys would wager she belonged on the fringes of society as did he. His money was still on her being an actress.

She opened her lovely mouth and, God help him, all he could think of was tasting her lips. She was about to agree—he could feel it.

Celia was so tempted. He’d handed her a way to gamble without losing her money. What could be better than that? What did it matter, then, if she succumbed to the excitement of the game? Losing would not imperil her.

It was as if he was handing her the future she so desired. To see Adele well settled. To retire to the country and live quietly within her means with no one directing her life but herself.

Rhysdale did not press her. He poured her another glass of wine and waited.

She accepted the glass gratefully and took a long sip, but even the wine did not loosen the knots of panic inside her.

He’d offered her this help as a friend. When had she last had a friend? For that matter, when had she last been able to trust a man? Even her beloved father broke promise after promise.

What if she refused Rhysdale’s offer? Her mind spun with what she would have to do to economise. She’d have to try to pay back most of the creditors. She’d have to give up her coachman, her carriage, her servants. She’d have little left for rooms to let and food to eat. Adele did not deserve such a life. Even her mother-in-law did not deserve such a life.

Rhysdale’s gaze was patient and, she fancied, sympathetic. ‘You are not required to decide this minute. Come to me tomorrow, in the afternoon.’ He glanced about the room. ‘We can discuss it without anyone around.’ His voice deepened. ‘If you refuse employment, my offer of a loan still stands.’

She felt tears prick her eyes. ‘You are kind, Rhysdale.’

A smile grew slowly across his face. ‘Do not say so too loudly or you will ruin my reputation.’

She almost laughed.

Some gentlemen entered the room and she came to her senses. ‘What time is it?’ She fished into her reticule to check her timepiece. ‘I must take my leave.’

He stood and offered his hand to assist her.

As they walked towards the door, they passed the older man she’d seen with Rhysdale when she’d arrived that night.

‘Charming supper room!’ the man remarked to his companion.

When he spied Rhysdale, his eyes hardened to ice. He walked past them without a word.

Even the air seemed chilled as he passed.

Celia inclined her head to Rhysdale. ‘Who is that gentleman?’

Rhysdale’s entire manner changed into something dark and bitter.

‘No one you need know,’ he answered.

It pained her to see him so disturbed. ‘Does he come here often?’

‘Never before.’ Rhysdale’s voice rumbled with suppressed emotion. ‘But I suspect he will come again.’

He led her out into the hallway and down the stairs to collect her cloak. As had become his custom, he escorted her into the street to wait for her coachman.

Clouds hid the stars and made the night even darker than usual. Celia’s own woes receded as she stood waiting with him for her carriage, an overwhelming desire to comfort him taking over.

She touched his arm. ‘Rhysdale, it will not do for the both of us to be glum.’

He covered her hand with his and his typically unreadable face momentarily turned pained and vulnerable. ‘Come this afternoon. Let us talk more about my offer.’ His grip on her hand tightened. ‘Do not leave me entirely.’

She blinked and her throat constricted. ‘Very well. I’ll come.’

He smiled and his gratitude was palpable. He leaned down, his eyes half closing.

Celia’s heart thundered in her chest as the night itself wrapped around them and his head dipped lower and lower. She wrestled with an impulse to push him away and a desire to feel his arms around her.

The clop-clop of a horse team sounded in her ears and he stepped away. Her carriage approached from the end of the street. When the coach pulled up to where they stood, he put the steps down and reached for her hand to help her into the couch.

When she placed her hand in his, she suddenly turned to face him, her words bursting from her mouth. ‘I will do it, Rhysdale. I will come work for you.’

His face broke out in pleasure. ‘Indeed?’

She smiled, as well. ‘Yes.’

For a moment he looked as if he would pull her into his arms and kiss her. Instead, he gently cupped her cheek. ‘We will talk more this afternoon.’

‘Until then,’ she whispered.

She climbed into the coach and he closed the door. As the carriage pulled away, her heart raced. Had she been afraid he would kiss her or had she yearned to feel his lips on hers?

Chapter Five

A gnarl of nerves amidst a flutter of excitement, Celia donned her hat and gloves. It was half-past twelve, barely afternoon, but she wished to be finished with her interview with Rhysdale before two, when no respectable woman dared walk near St James’s Street.

She supposed she was not truly a respectable woman. Not when she spent her nights gambling in a gaming hell. But that did not mean she wished to suffer the taunts and catcalls of dandies who loitered on corners for that very purpose.

Her mother-in-law descended the staircase. ‘And where are you going?’

Celia had hoped to slip out before her mother-in-law knew she was gone. ‘I have an errand. I shall be back shortly.’

‘Do you take Younie with you?’ the older woman snapped. ‘Because I have need of her.’

Celia kept her tone mild. ‘She is at your disposal. My errand is not far. I have no need of company.’

‘Hmmph!’ her mother-in-law sniffed. ‘I expect you will not tell me the nature of this errand of yours.’

‘That is correct.’ Celia smiled.

Lady Gale continued to talk as she descended the stairs. ‘Most likely it is to pay a bill or beg for more credit from shopkeepers who ought to be glad to have our business. Needless to say you are not off to meet a man. My son always said you were frigid as well as barren.’

The barb stung.

The cruelty of this woman was rivalled only by that of her son. Ironic that Lady Gale was blind to her son’s faults, but took great enjoyment in cataloguing Celia’s.

Primary among Celia’s shortcomings, of course, was her inability to conceive a child. Neither Gale nor his mother had forgiven her for not producing sons, but neither had they ever considered how crushing this was for Celia. A baby might have made her marriage bearable.

Knowing she could never have a child hurt more than her mother-in-law would ever know, but today her mother-in-law’s abuse merely made her angry.

After all she’d sacrificed for the woman’s comfort …

Celia faced her. ‘You speak only to wound me, ma’am. It is badly done of you.’

Her mother-in-law stopped on the second stair. She flushed and avoided Celia’s eye.

Celia maintained her composure. ‘Recall, if you please, that your son left you in more precarious financial circumstances than he did me, but I have not abandoned you.’ Much as she would like to. ‘Nor have I abandoned Adele. I am doing the best I can for all of us.’

Lady Gale pursed her lips. ‘You keep us both under your thumb with your tight-fisted ways. You control us with the purse strings.’

Celia tied the ribbons on her hat. ‘Think the worst of me, if you wish, but at least have the good manners to refrain from speaking your thoughts aloud.’ She opened the door. ‘I should return in an hour or so.’

Younie had sewn a swirl of netting to the crown of Celia’s hat. When she stepped onto the pavement, Celia pulled the netting over her face so no one would recognise her if they happened to spy her entering the Masquerade Club.

The afternoon was grey and chilly and Celia walked briskly, needing to work off her anger at the woman.

Lady Gale had well known of her son’s debauchery, but still she preferred to blame all Gale’s ills on Celia. In truth, the man had countless vices, many more than mere gambling. He’d treated Celia like a brood mare and then thrust her out to pasture when she didn’t produce, all the while taunting her with his flagrant infidelities and profligate ways. As if that were not enough, he neglected his daughter.

And his mother.

Celia had known nothing of men when her aunt and uncle arranged her marriage to Gale. She’d still been reeling from her parents’ deaths and barely old enough for a come-out. Her aunt and uncle simply wished to rid themselves of her. She’d never felt comfortable with Gale, but thought she had no choice but to marry him. She never imagined how bad marriage to him would be.

The only thing he’d wanted from Celia was a son and when she could not comply, he disdained her for it. Over and over and over. Life was only tolerable for her when he went off to London or anywhere else. Celia cared nothing about what he did in those places as long as he was gone.

Little did she know he’d squandered his fortune, leaving only what he could not touch: Celia’s widow’s portion and Adele’s dowry.

She’d worn widow’s black after Gale died, but she had never mourned him. His death had set her free.

And she would free herself of his mother, as well, when Adele was settled. As long as her husband would be generous enough to take on the responsibility of the Dowager Lady Gale.

It was not until Celia turned off St James’s on to Park Place that she remembered her destination. She was indeed meeting a man. Would not Lady Gale suffer palpitations if she knew? She was meeting a man who offered her the best chance of escaping life with her mother-in-law. A man who had almost kissed her.

The gaming hell was only a few short streets away from her rooms. In daylight it looked like any other residence.

But it was an entirely different world.

As she reached for the knocker, her hand shook.

For the first time he would see her face. Was she ready for that?

She sounded the knocker and the door opened almost immediately. The burly man who attended the door at night stood in the doorway.

Celia made herself smile. ‘Good afternoon. I have an appointment with Mr Rhysdale.’

The taciturn man nodded and stepped aside for her to enter. He lifted a finger. A signal for her to wait, she supposed. He trudged up the stairs.

Celia took a breath and glanced around to try to calm her nerves.

At night this hall looked somewhat exotic with its deep green walls and chairs and gilded tables. At night the light from a branch of candles made the gold gilt glitter and a scent of brandy and men filled the air. To her right was a drawing room, its door ajar. To anyone peeking in a window this house would appear as respectable as any Mayfair town house.

The doorman descended the dark mahogany stairs and nodded again. Celia assumed that meant he’d announced her to Mr Rhysdale. He then disappeared into the recesses of rooms behind the hall.

A moment later Rhysdale appeared on the stairs. ‘Madam?’

She turned towards him and lifted the netting from her face, suddenly fearful he would not approve of her true appearance.

He paused, ever so slightly, but his expression gave away nothing of his thoughts.

He descended to the hall. ‘Come. We will talk upstairs.’

Dismayed by his unreadable reaction, Celia followed him to the second floor where sounds of men hammering nails and sawing wood reached her ears.

‘Forgive the noise,’ he said. ‘I’m having this floor remodelled into rooms for my use.’ He lifted the latch of a door to her right. ‘We can talk in here.’

They entered a small drawing room. Its furnishings appeared fashionable, as well as comfortable. They were stylishly arranged.

He gestured for her to sit on a deep red sofa. He sat on an adjacent chair. ‘I’ve ordered tea.’

She might have been calling upon one of her mother-in-law’s society friends. Escorted into a pleasant drawing room. Served tea. The conventions might be identical, but this was no typical morning call.

In daylight Rhysdale was even more imposing. His dress and grooming were as impeccable as the most well-attired lord, even though he managed to wear the pieces as casually as if he’d just walked in from a morning ride. His eyes, dark as midnight in the game room, were a spellbinding mix of umber and amber when illuminated by the sun from the windows.